A Day In Each Year: Age 3
by ishippeditovernight
Summary: Part 3 in my 'Domestic life with Dean, Cas, and their daughter' series. These are mostly standalones by the way, and largely fluff for the sake of fluff. Dessie cuts almost all her hair off when she's 3 years old.


**Haircut (age 3) **

**Notes:**

Part III of A Day In Each Year. Cross posted on ao3. These are actually all finished but I have minor editing that needs to be done throughout them all, and I've been putting it off. (Parts 4 and 5 especially. Yikes.)

[Background: Cas and Dean are married. (Yay!) They adopted Dessie when she was about 7 months old. They currently live in the Bunker; Sam has a house very close nearby with Amelia and their son Robbie and daughter Maryann. Robbie is 3 years older than Dessie and Dessie is 3 years older than Maryann.

Unspecified time, but Cas is still an angel, and the trials / humanized Cas / Metatron / Mark of Cain / etc don't play any part. So it's kind of AU after mid-season 8.]

**Haircut (age 3)**

Dessie cuts her hair almost all off when she's three years and two months old.

It's a fluke, a stupid fucking oversight. Cas left the scissors out from the last time he'd—whatever the hell he'd had to use them for, Dean can't even remember. Point is, things get suspiciously quiet for a few minutes, and he raises his head from the scattering of newspapers across one of the tables in the Bunker's main room before calling for Cas to check on Dessie in her room.

The familiar flutter of wings announces Cas's departure from the kitchen. Dean's barely dropped his head to scan back over the articles before Cas is yelling out "No! Put those—" And then it sounds like something hits the wall.

Dean shoves his chair back and starts for his daughter's bedroom. He hears Cas talking to Dessie, who keeps shouting out "No! Don' wann!" and "Go 'way!"

Cas falls silent as Dean approaches the doorway. Then, "…Dean?" His gravel voice is mixed with concern, annoyance, and… _amusement_?

_Son of a bitch_. This can't be good, can it? He walks in, not sure what he's going to find.

But it's sure not Dessie standing in a circle of wavy blonde locks, glaring up at Cas defiantly, lower lip stuck way the hell out and her hair looking like it was attacked by a very gentle kitsune. The right side falls to her jaw, there's what almost appears to be a bald spot over her left ear, and her bangs are asymmetrical and cut far too short. Shit.

Cas looks over helplessly. "She won't let me get near her to fix it," he explains.

Dean crosses his arms and stares at their daughter. "Well, that's cause you're not _going_ to," he says. He spots the scissors on the right side of the room and quickly grabs them, lest Dessie do more damage (if that's even at all possible). "Seriously?"

That helpless slight shrug. "I didn't think she would try to get them," Cas says. "It never occurred to me." He frowns and re-focuses on the first thing Dean said. "Wait, what? It would take no time at all to grow it back out for her."

"No!" insists Dessie. Kid obviously hasn't looked in the mirror.

"Because I want her being as normal as she can be," Dean says. "She's already got the odds stacked against her, us two and then…" He falls silent for a moment and glances up, using the scissors to vaguely gesture around the room as if indicating the entire Bunker. "…All this, our lives and sh—" Just in time, he remembers not to swear in front of her.

"Exactly," Cas cuts in. Dessie seems bored and wanders over to her toy chest, more pieces of hair falling off her shirt as she walks. She starts digging into the box and pulling out toys. "With all that, how can a regrowth of hair matter?"

Dean watches Dessie straighten up and edge around the side of the gigantic Tub Of Crap, obviously searching for something. He cringes when he sees the back of her head. "Oh, that is _awesome_," he mutters in dismay.

Before he can react, Cas has stepped forward through the cars and dolls and placed a hand on the top of their kid's head. A heartbeat later, her dark blonde hair is about the length it had been before, just past her shoulders. The curls are gone, though, for some reason.

The effect on both Dessie and Dean is instantaneous. Dessie whirls around and starts kicking at Cas's ankles while yelling various protests; Dean settles for giving his best bitchface and raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?" he asks again, pitching his voice over the sounds of their daughter throwing a fit.

Cas lifts his shoulders slightly. "It… _did_… look terrible," he says in defense of himself. Dean's lips twitch.

After a few minutes, Dessie seems to wear herself out on the kicking thing and slumps to the ground. Dean kneels down to her. "You tired?"

"_No_," she says loudly while rubbing one blue eye. Yahtzee.

Dean glances back at Cas and darts his eyes to the pale yellow dresser on the other side of the room. Cas takes the cue and goes to pick out a set of pajamas while Dean turns back to Dessie. "Well, humor me, okay?" he asks her, reaching his hands out and waiting for her response. "Let's all get pajama-d up cause it's almost 8. Let's change your clothes first and then we'll go change, huh?"

A pink shirt and pants with white flowers hits him in the head, the pants falling past his shoulder and puddling on his left knee. Dean doesn't even dignify that with a glare sent his husband's way, instead keeping his eyes locked on a slightly giggly Dessie as he reaches up and pulls the shirt off the top of his head. "'Cept I'm not wearing these, I'll tell you that."

Dessie finally nods and stands up to hold her arms up.

After they are, indeed, all in pajamas (Cas in a white t-shirt and blue shorts, Dean also in a T and sweatpants – gray and black, not pink, thank you very much), they manage to get Dessie into bed and kiss her good night. Dean is leaning against the wall outside as Cas reads her tonight's bedtime story, arms crossed and fighting to keep a grin off his face at the man's enthusiasm and the character voices he always tries (and often fails miserably) to do. An angel reading some godawful Disney novelization-type book should not be _this_ attractive.

Then, "Good night, princess." "Night night, Papa."

Cas exits the room and pulls the door halfway shut as usual before he looks up at Dean. "Well?"

Dean feigns ignorance. "Well, what?" Wide eyed for good measure.

"Aren't you still angry about…?"

"Nah," Dean says, shaking his head. He turns and starts for their bedroom, hearing Cas follow behind him. "And you know why?" He opens the door, pausing for a moment.

"What?" Cas's eyebrows crease and he gives Dean that somehow-impossibly-hot confused expression.

Dean quirks his lips and glances down at the floor for a second before smirking back at him. "Cause it _did_ look terrible."


End file.
